If You Don't Know Me By Now
by FraidyCat
Summary: Sometimes, things just get broken. The Tribe Has Spoken. Now a story.
1. Chapter 1

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Title: If You Don't Know Me By Now

**Author: FraidyCat**

**Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.**

**A/N: The Tribe Has Spoken. My Oneshot is now a story; no promises regarding length. (First chapter basically the same, but I want to keep it all together.)**

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Don looked up when he heard a book drop on David Sinclair's desk, then glanced at his watch. His voice reflected his surprise. "David, I didn't expect you to come in until tomorrow morning. It's already almost 3."

David wandered toward Don's desk, still going through a fistful of phone messages. "I was sort of hoping you wouldn't see me." He looked up and smiled. "Haven't even been home, yet. Came straight here from the airport."

Don raised an eyebrow. "Why? Megan and I have just been catching up on paperwork for the last week. I even sent her home early, today. No new assignments with half the team gone." He made a show of looking behind David. "I see Colby doesn't share your sense of dedication."

David laughed. "Colby didn't leave his house keys in his desk, either. I haven't been home because I can't get in."

Don leaned back in his chair and smiled. "So…how was Quantico? You guys learn anything?"

David sat on the edge of Don's desk. "Can't spend a week at the Academy and not learn something — I picked up some things in Investigative Training I'm anxious to put into practice. I even started a written report for you on the flight back."

Don was impressed. "That's great, David. I need another report."

David grinned. "Don't worry. I think all Colby learned was which entrees to avoid at the cafeteria."

Don laughed and David thought he saw a curly head pop out of a conference room. "Is Charlie here? I thought you said there were no new cases."

Don shrugged and looked at his watch again. "I dunno. Is he still here? He's on Spring Break this week, so he's been spending the week helping Admin implement some new cataloguing system. It's supposed to streamline cross-referencing between cases. Solitary bits of information will be pulled from case files and filtered through some really scary program Charlie developed that will find potential patterns where no one is even looking."

David caught Charlie's attention and lifted a hand in greeting. "So when I enter data that my embezzler just happened to have seven Jack Russell terriers, six months down the road, when Martin is investigating some dog breeder's murder, that fact would pop up?"

Don shrugged again. "Something like that. Not quite that obscure, I hope. Every case would be popping patterns off the map. I don't really understand it, myself. Charlie tried to explain it…"

"Explain what? Hey, David, good to see you. Don said you and Colby wouldn't be back until tomorrow."

Don looked up at his brother. "I was just trying to tell David why you're here this week."

Charlie shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He looked at David. "Don't worry. Admin is beta testing for me, on a limited basis, and they will be responsible for all the data input. I still have quite a bit of R&D to do on this before Agents are using it on a daily basis."

"You got the FBI to serve as a _beta tester_?" David wasn't sure he heard correctly.

Charlie smiled serenely. "Someday I may share my secrets."

David laughed, then quickly snapped his fingers. "Hey, Charlie, I'm glad I ran into you. I got something in Washington." He stood and walked to his desk, picked up the book Don heard drop earlier, and rejoined the brothers at Don's desk.

Charlie was nonplussed. "You got me a present?"

David smiled. "Not exactly. More like I want you to give me one."

Don and Charlie both looked at him silently, waiting for him to explain.

"We had a few hour to kill, after we drove into Washington to catch our flight at Dulles," started David. We went to a sidewalk café for coffee, and there was this bookstore in half the building."

"I don't get that," interrupted Charlie. "This mixture of liquid and books, the last few years. Liquid that stains, yet. Why would you want someone dripping coffee all over your books?"

Don sighed in frustration. "Charlie…"

Charlie shrugged, looked at David. "I'm just saying. Anyway. Please, go on."

David grinned. "It's okay, Charlie, we drank the coffee first. Anyway, I was browsing the store, and I found this." He held the book out to Charlie. "I probably could have found one here, if I'd known about it, but I grabbed it when I saw it. I was hoping you'd sign it, for my niece? The one who's going to major in math at UCLA next fall?" He turned his attention proudly to Don. "I'll give it to her for graduation. She'll be floored."

Charlie looked at the book in his hand and reddened slightly. "Uh…geez…sure, David…" He looked at Don. "Can I borrow a pen?"

Instead, Don reached out and took the book. He looked intently at the cover:

**Lost Generation**

_Falling Victim to the Math Wars_

By Dr. Charles E. Eppes

Stunned, he opened the book and looked at the title page, a brief introduction:

_Mathematician Dr. Charles Eppes explores the tragic fall-out resulting_

_from the debate that originated in California and now boils throughout_

_the country. Should children be taught, in the traditionalist view,_

_to master basic math skills before they attempt to grasp at concepts?_

_Or should they, as the reformists claim, concentrate on the application_

_and "real use" of mathematics? _

_Dr. Eppes explores the hypothesis that the Math Wars, raging now _

_for the last decade, have succeeded only in a generation _

_ill-prepared for either avenue._

Don saw the publication data on the opposite page. This book was published last year. Last year?

He didn't know what to say. He closed the book and handed it back to Charlie, along with a pen. Charlie tried to catch his eye, but Don looked at his desk.

"Sharelle, right?", Charlie asked David, and Sinclair nodded and then spelled the name for him. After Charlie had inscribed a note on the flyleaf, he signed it and gave the book back to David. "Can't say I've ever been asked to do that before…except by other mathematicians."

David smiled. "Thanks, Charlie. This is great." He looked down at Don. "I'm heading home, unless?"

Don waved a hand. "No, fine, go…bright and early, right?"

"Right," David agreed. He crossed again to his desk, opened a drawer and withdrew his keys. He pocketed them and headed for the elevator. "Thanks again, Charlie!"

"No problem." Charlie watched him board the elevator and waited for the doors to close before he looked back at Don, who was boring a hole in his desk. "Um…is there a problem?"

Don finally looked at him and glared. Charlie involuntarily took a step back.

"You published a book. Not one of your doctoral theses, but a whole, friggin' book. How could you do that?"

Charlie looked at him, confused. "What? You know that university professors are expected to publish…"

"Articles in trade journals, Charlie! I knew about those. How could you not tell us you were having a book published? It was just last year, I thought you and I were doing okay by then…"

Charlie looked at him silently for a moment, then sighed. "If by 'okay' you mean that I was helping you on your cases."

Don stood up and stepped closer to Charlie, who only took another step back. "What does that mean?"

Charlie looked him directly in the eyes and Don was struck by his brother's openness as well as the depth of pain he saw in those eyes. "That's what we talk about, Don. Your cases. How anything I may or may not be working on might relate to your cases."

Don felt his anger burning. "That's not true."

"No? Maybe you're counting the evenings you come for dinner, and do Dad and I the favor of letting us try to encourage you when things aren't going as well as you'd like. On a case, of course."

Don crossed his arms. "Don't be an ass."

Charlie crossed his arms.

They stared at each other.

"Do you remember the case, probably almost two years ago now…black market organ harvesting. Turned out a whole syndicate was involved, operating in five states." Charlie broke the silence first.

Don frowned. "Of course I do. It was one of the first cases you helped us on, and it took forever to solve. Three homeless men died, just carved up and left in alleys…"

Charlie nodded. "You needed a lot of encouragement, during that case. Came over for dinner a lot, even if you were going back to the office later."

Don's anger rose another notch. "Dammit, Charlie, what's the point?"

It was not possible, but it seemed like his eyes got even sadder. "It was one of those dinners when I told you. You even said 'Congratulations', but I could tell you weren't really listening. Asked me something about the case and the patterns I was searching right after."

Don defended himself. "It was a horrible case, Charlie. I remember your being upset by it too, and you don't see everything I do. Why didn't you tell me again, later?"

"I may have mentioned it."

"When?"

"You came to watch a ball game, that night. Just put the Reynolds' kidnapping file in 'Cold Cases', and that made you crazy. You were not happy that Dad was going to a faculty dinner with me."

Don nodded, remembering. "And he didn't, after he saw me. Dad understood that I needed some down time, some family time. He stayed home and watched the game with me." He was angry enough to throw in a cheap shot. "Which is more than you did. It was only a dinner."

Charlie looked at him.

"In my honor," he finally said softly. "For the book."

Don looked stunned again.

"I called, and asked if you'd like to go. Had to leave you a voice mail. Which you never answered."

Don raised one of his crossed arms and ran a hand nervously through his hair. "That can't be true," he said, but looked at Charlie and knew that it was. He tried to find his anger, again. "Sometimes…sometimes you need to yell louder than the job, Charlie. How was I supposed to know?"

Charlie lowered his own arms, put his hands back in his pockets. He still looked sad — but the resignation in his eyes frightened Don even more. "Don't worry about it, Don. If you don't know me by now — you probably don't want to. But that's okay." Charlie looked away. "Well. It's not okay. But I'm accepting it."

Charlie sighed and turned to leave. He looked back over his shoulder and saw a speechless Don staring at him. "Really, don't worry. We're doing okay."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Don felt both in his element, and on completely foreign ground.

Yes, he was using investigative techniques that he had practiced for so long that they were no longer second-nature to him — they were first-nature.

On the other hand, he was using them on his own brother. Not because — God forbid — he was a suspect, but because Don was afraid he didn't even know him.

He waited for Larry to answer his phone. Spring Break had ended yesterday. Maybe he was in a class right now. Don checked his watch. 10:15 a.m. Was Charlie in class right now? He had to admit, he didn't know.

"Yes. Dr. Fleinhardt."

Don straightened a little in his chair. "Larry, Don. You sound a little flustered."

The voice relaxed a little. "Oh, good morning, Don! Yes, I'm afraid I misplaced my notes, and class begins in 15 minutes. What can I do for you this morning?"

Don hesitated. "Look, it sounds like you're busy…"

"Oh. How on earth could I have missed that? Here they are, exactly where they should be. I really should have used Spring Break to clean my desk off…" Larry sighed happily. "There. You see, Don, now I have time to listen more attentively. Please, continue."

"Larry, do you remember when Charlie published that book?"

The professor sounded distracted again. "Um, yes … I'm sorry. Which one?"

Don's mouth dropped open. There had been more than one? "The…the…a year, year-and-a-half ago? He was honored at a faculty dinner."

"Of course. **Lost Generation.** A truly phenomenal work. Charles is often regarded as a reformist himself, and his depth of understanding of the consequences of the 'Math Wars' between traditionalists and reformists, his proposed solutions…well it was quite remarkable, really."

Don had never even heard of Math Wars. Once, when Charlie's old nemesis from Princeton had shown up at Cal Sci for a seminar and started hitting on Amita, Colby and David had witnessed what they called a "Math Fight"…but he didn't think that's what Larry was talking about. "Right. That book. Was there a…a program, or anything, at the dinner? Biographical information?"

"That's right, neither you nor Alan could attend. Such a shame. I don't believe there was…wait. The student newspaper had a story after the dinner. I believe it may have contained biographical…" Larry's voice trailed off, then returned. "Don, are you investigating Charlie?"

Don tried to laugh. "Of course not. I was in the field all weekend with two new cases. I don't have time to investigate Charlie. Like you said, I didn't get to go to the dinner…"

"That was 18 months ago, Don."

Don shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I…got busy. Something just reminded me of it, that's all."

"I see." Larry's voice, which had seemed infinitely kind there for a second, suddenly became frantic. "Oh, dear. I really must leave. My next class is in another building."

"Sure, Larry. Thanks…"

"Don, try the Cal Sci library. They archive all issues of the student newspaper."

"Yeah. I'll do that. Good idea." Don hurried before Larry hung up. "And Larry? Don't mention this to Charlie, okay?"

Silence, finally a confused "Of course, if that's what you want…"

Don nodded, even though Larry couldn't see him. "It is."

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Half an hour later, Don, on an early lunch hour, searched the student newspaper archive for the last two years until he found the story. He settled in a secluded study room and took his notebook and pen out of his pocket and started to read.

He skimmed rapidly over the early stuff, national and international competitions and awards dating back to Charlie's days as a student. His eyes lit on 1995. Another book: **Arranged Marriage.** _Applied Mathematics, Mathematical Biology and the Study of Population Dynamics_. Don closed his eyes and thought. 1995. He was working in Albuquerque, then. His mother was still healthy. Surely she would have told him…hell, she would have mailed him the book. When he had left, to come back to L.A., he had come back clean, to get to his mother as soon as possible; and — if he was being honest — he wanted a fresh start, after Kim. So he had reduced himself to a few boxes of clothes and treasures, and told Kim to sell the rest. He didn't remember bringing back any books.

He shook his head to clear it of the unwelcome vision of someone paying a quarter for Charlie's book at a yard sale, and opened his eyes again, looked back at the story. In 1999, Charlie had won something called the Paul Erdos National Award, from some World Federation. In 2002, he was a finalist for the prestigious Fields Medal, awarded by the International Mathematical Union. Even Don had heard of the Fields Medal, and he remembered this one.

He remembered it because Charlie didn't actually win. Charlie always won stuff like that, so the fact that he didn't stuck with Don, even though Charlie had seemed pretty happy to have been named a finalist. Don remembered thinking that maybe the genius finally had some competition, now that he was an adult.

He shifted in the chair. He didn't much like what he was learning, here. Not the stuff he was learning about Charlie — the things he was learning about himself. He refocused his attention, again.

During the summer of 2003 Charlie had served on the faculty at the International Mathematics Olympiad in Japan. Don remembered the trip to Japan — their Mom had only been gone a few months, and he had thought it a little self-centered of Charlie to leave Dad, right then — he'd thought it was a vacation. He didn't recall hearing that Charlie's trip had a business aspect.

Didn't remember asking, either. He had still been pretty angry about the whole "P vs NP" thing, back then.

The story was written during the 2003-2004 school year, so there wasn't anything newer than that. It did list the several mathematics societies and councils of which Charlie was a member. Then Don got really surprised. Everything so far had been about Charlie's work, but it turned out he was also a disaster relief volunteer with the Los Angeles County chapter of the American Red Cross. Plus, he had trained as a literacy volunteer at the Los Angeles Public Library, but at the time of the story, was "having some difficulty finding the time to actually do it. I'm hoping to start a tutoring relationship there this summer," Charlie had said.

Don pushed the newspaper away, leaned back in the chair and tried to think objectively, as if he and Charlie were just another mystery to solve.

There were times when his Dad complained about Charlie's schedule. Sometimes when Don came over with data for a case, Alan would mention that Charlie was busy enough as it was. But it was usually a good-natured grumble. He knew Charlie would never not help Don, when he asked.

Of course, there had also been times when Charlie had tried to tell him things. Finals week. Article and project deadlines. Had he ever cut Charlie some slack during those times, taken a case away from him? He winced. More likely, he had bullied him into continuing. In fact, now that he thought about it…just last year, he had stopped by Charlie's office to encourage him to work a little faster on something he wanted. God, he couldn't even remember the case, now. Anyway, Charlie had been sitting on the couch grading papers, and had tried to tell him something…Larry had come in the open door, asked if he could "pick Charlie's brain" for a moment. Charlie had smiled and said, "You're welcome to whatever scraps my brother leaves behind." At the time, Don had thought it was a pretty witty comeback, and laughed.

Now, looking at his notes, remembering the look on Charlie's face last week…now he wondered if Charlie was trying to be funny at all.

He slowly pushed back the chair and stood. He looked at his watch. He needed to get back to the office. No time to stop for lunch anywhere.

Just as well.

He wasn't very hungry, anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

He didn't have to work late, but he still waited until almost 8 o'clock before he drove to his Dad's house.

Wait.

His brother's house. Walking in the front door, he saw his father comfortably ensconced in his recliner, reading. When Charlie had bought the house, Don had believed it was because he just wanted to keep living there, himself. Leaving for college so young, he had missed having a real home during some pretty formative years. Charlie had even admitted as much. But Don was starting to see that things were not always what they seemed to be on the surface, with Charlie. Maybe his own comfort and desires weren't all he had been thinking about. Dad could be living alone in a condo right now, going complete days without so much as speaking to another human…and if he was, would Don himself be showing up for dinner several times a week? His Dad's cooking was great — when Mom had first gotten sick, he had taken it over, and the more he cooked, the better he got. Yet was it just the food that drew Don? Or was it the warmth, the comfort…the feeling of coming home?

Alan looked up, a welcoming smile on his face. "Donnie! I wasn't expecting you tonight — but you know I'm always glad to see you!"

"Hey, Dad." Don flopped onto the couch.

Alan put his book aside and began to get up. "I didn't make dinner tonight, since it was just me. Grabbed a sandwich. But I'm sure there's something in the freezer…"

Don held up a hand. "Dad, no, I'm good. I already ate. Thanks."

Alan settled back in the chair. "I don't think there's a game on tonight, but you can check…"

Don sighed, "Man. Are those really the only reasons I ever come over here?"

Alan picked up his book again and raised an eyebrow, but didn't answer.

Don looked toward the kitchen door, then back to his father. "Just you, huh? Where's Charlie?"

Alan smiled, again. "He has exams planned for every class tomorrow. He's letting the T.A.'s proctor them. Got here about 4 and threw a bag in the car. He's going to drive down the coast until he finds either a motel vacancy or a spot on the beach big enough for a sleeping bag. Said he may have missed Spring Break, but he can still squeeze in an overnighter!"

Don nodded silently.

Alan regarded him for a moment. "I'm glad," he finally said. "He's been working hard, he could use a break. Even if it is only one night." Don still didn't say anything. "Did you have a case you wanted his help on? He didn't even take his lap top, but he'll be home tomorrow evening, I'm sure."

Don looked down at his hands and studied his fingernails. "No, Dad. I was just wondering why you said it was 'just you'…"

Alan quietly put the book aside again. "Everything all right, son?"

Don looked up and smiled. "Yeah. Colby and David are back in full swing, things are getting back on track."

"That's good." Alan waited for the other shoe to drop.

Don idly picked up the newspaper from the coffee table in front of him, scanned a few headlines and dropped it again. "Dad?" He looked at Alan again.

Alan was waiting for him, and smiled. "Yes?"

"When…When Charlie published his…his last book, and they had that dinner for him…"

Alan's smiled faded into confusion. "Wow. That was a while back, Don."

"I know. But, you were going. To the dinner. You were dressed in a suit, and then I came over…"

"I remember."

"Why did you stay here with me? I mean, that was a big deal, for Charlie. And you, as his father. You must have been looking forward to it."

Alan contemplated him silently for a few seconds before he answered. "Well…it's what we have to do sometimes, Don. Parents. You try to be sensitive to where you are needed the most. There have certainly been times when Charlie took precedence over you."

"So you…you felt like evening the score, a little."

Alan spoke forcefully. "No." His tone gentled again and he grinned to lighten his son's mood. "If you would give me those grandchildren I keep asking for, I wouldn't have to explain this." Don smiled back, and Alan continued. "I don't keep some sort of running tally, Don. I can't 'keep score' between my boys. I just do the best I can. Sometimes I make mistakes…but that night, I felt like you came here because you needed something you could only get from this place, and us. So I spoke with Charlie out at the car, and I came back in. Was I wrong?"

Don started to shake his head, then stopped. "I don't know. Was Charlie okay with you backing out at the last minute?"

Alan smiled at Don fondly. "Donnie. Your brother loves you. He could see your distress. He actually brought it up first. 'Dad, if you want to stay…', he said."

Don looked at his fingernails, again. Great. That made him feel better.

"Don, why are you asking about this now? Did you and Charlie have a fight?"

"No…David just ran into a copy of that book, and he…mentioned it, and I started thinking about it…"

Alan picked up his own book again. "Well, don't worry about it, Don. It was so long ago — and I'm sure your brother never thinks about it."

Don was just as sure that he did.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Charlie sat on the beach and watched the sun set over the water.

Usually, this made him feel peaceful.

Tonight, though…tonight he felt as if the sun were setting permanently on some part of his soul. He felt bereft.

His words with Don last week didn't really qualify as an argument, because only one of them had been angry. His hurt over the book, the dinner — it was old. Not so much dealt with, as assimilated. He hadn't realized how much, until Don brought it up.

With the team back together after a week, they were busy enough that he had finished his work with FBI Admin without running into Don again last week, and Don had not come to the house over the weekend. He was feeling pretty badly about that by Monday. He hadn't meant to get Don so angry that he would cut himself off from them entirely. That wasn't fair to Dad. But then Larry mentioned Megan's busy weekend in the field, and he felt better. Don was just working all weekend.

At any rate, the time alone had given him space to think, and he was afraid now that something was broken. Over the last year, he had continued to consult whenever Don asked him, but as he recalled the last year, he noticed that he had stopped trying to confide in Don. He only answered questions that he was asked, perfunctorily, without details — and Don never asked for more. Sadly, he had realized that in some ways, he felt closer to Don's team members than he did to Don. Whenever he was in the office, he felt a welcome rapport with them — but always felt that he should maintain a certain professional distance from Don.

Out of the office…Well, he was seeing Megan a lot when she came to see Larry. They would no doubt double-date, if Charlie could get a girl to look at him twice…or maybe just figure out when one was, in time to do something about it. He and Colby had gone out for beer a few times after a case. He had given David's niece a tour of Cal Sci and tried to steal her from UCLA. Don? Don he saw at dinner. He was glad that Don came so often — he knew how much it meant to Alan. But he didn't think for a minute that Don would keep coming, if Alan weren't there.

A couple of times in the last year, overwhelmed, Charlie had tried. When he was having dreams about their mother. When Amita got the job offer from Harvard. Don was polite enough. He listened, but he didn't ask any questions that would prolong the conversations, either. Both times, Charlie had just stopped talking, asked Don if he needed his help on anything, and then left.

In earlier days, he had considered his own responsibilities. He had tried to get Don to share things with him, he had tried to make him understand that he wanted to be a good brother. But Don was not big on sharing. At least not with Charlie. He wouldn't talk about Kim, or Terry — at one point, he had actually declared those questions off-limits. He talked about work, a lot. Too much, probably. Charlie smiled sadly for his father. Poor Alan. Two sons who were too entangled in work to create entanglements — and grandchildren — elsewhere. At least the two of them had that in common.

And that was about it. Five years seemed like a big age difference when they were growing up, especially when it was complicated by Charlie's gift and everybody's attempt to grasp its implications. His parents had found themselves making decisions they never thought they'd have to make, and often left in the dust by the strange and complex workings of his mind. He himself had hated being so different from everyone else, and it took him years to devise ways to slow his synapses down enough to sleep at night. Don was put first in the uncomfortable position of suddenly no longer being an only child, then in the worse position of being in the same classes as his much younger brother. So no, they had never had much in common.

He was hoping that as adults, they could find connections.

Maybe too much was unresolved.

Maybe it was just never meant to be.

So he accepted the level of intimacy Don seemed comfortable with. He tried to tell himself that he was satisfied with that.

The sun was almost down, now. It was almost dark. The breeze had picked up, and was coming off the ocean in waves that smelled of saltwater and blew sand into his hair. He flexed his bare feet into the ever-shifting grains. When you saw a beach in the distance, from a car window, or in a picture…it looked solid. Yet when you made yourself part of that beach, from the first step it moved beneath you. You quickly learned to trust enough to keep putting one foot in front of the other, or you ran back the other way as fast as you could. The struggle of staying, of negotiating the terrain, was always worth the effort, Charlie had found. The further into the beach you got, the more it revealed its treasures to you.

Charlie sighed.

Maybe he should have tried harder.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Don waited until late afternoon of the day he knew Charlie would be back at work. The cases the team had been working on since the weekend were both on track. His team knew he was only a phone call away, if something urgent came up. Surprised at how difficult it was, he convinced himself he could leave a few hours early.

It was almost 4 when he stood at the open door of Charlie's office and knocked. Charlie was seated at his desk, facing the door. He was leaning back in the chair, feet on the desk, lap full of papers and a red pen stuck behind his ear. Another red pen was in one hand, and a third rolled on the desk, as is it had just been tossed there. He looked up from the paper he was reading and saw Don. He smiled, tossed the papers on a corner of the desk and beckoned for Don to enter with the red pen he was still holding.

"Thank God," he said. "Get in here. Remind me not to schedule an exam for two days after Spring Break, again. I swear half of these kids are still waiting for their blood alcohol to reach the legal limit."

Don laughed and headed for the couch in the corner. "How was your trip down the coast?"

Charlie looked a little surprised. "You know about that?"

"Dad told me. I'm…glad you could get away. Even though you're paying for it now."

Charlie looked forlornly at the test papers. "It's not like I didn't warn them. Something tells me they didn't study much over Break." He looked at Don again. "So are you here to rescue me? Distract me with a case?"

Don spoke slowly and deliberately. "You haven't told me about your trip."

Charlie looked momentarily nonplussed. "Oh. Well. It was good. I didn't get far — about four hours out of the city — but I found a really nice little secluded section of the beach that I've never been to before. The lady at the motel gave me directions. It's kind-of a small-town secret, I guess. Trying to cut down on tourist traffic."

"So why did she tell you?"

Charlie shook his head. "I never get why things like that happen. Maybe I looked like I needed it, or something."

Don tried to think of another question. Why was a simple conversation so much harder than the interrogation room? "Uh…so…nice beach."

Charlie regarded him as if he had grown another head. "Right."

Don suddenly remembered something and almost sighed in relief. "Dad said you didn't even take your lap top. You must have needed some serious R &R."

"Just a break, Don, that's all." Charlie was still looking at him oddly. "So?"

Now it was Don's turn to look confused. "What?"

"Do you have a case? Something for me?"

Don looked away toward the door, then down at his hands, then across to the shelves full of books, and finally back at Charlie. "No. Nothing. I just…left early, today. I thought I'd come and hear about your trip."

Charlie started to reach for the pen behind his ear and noticed that he still had one in his hand. He tapped it a few times on the desk, and then stood. He walked across to the office door, closed it, then took a chair near the couch and crossed one leg over the other knee. He looked at Don. "What's going on?"

"I- Nothing." They looked at each other for a few seconds. Don blinked first. "Okay. Do you believe people can change?"

Charlie raised a hand to rub his forehead, dropped it to the arm of the chair, again. "Sounds like something I would need more data to determine."

"Like what?"

This time Charlie looked away. His eyes wandered to the window, then back. "Well…is there a detectable pattern of behavior? Have there been changes in the past?"

"Maybe not. Maybe they're just small changes. You know. Can't be seen with the naked eye kind of things."

Charlie considered. Remembered the sunset. "You know…I'm not sure I ever thanked you."

Don actually jerked against the back of the couch. "What?"

"It's true that I have done a certain amount of work for agencies like the NSA and the Coast Guard, on my own — but I know that I probably wouldn't consult for the FBI on as many cases, without my connection to you. I recognize the importance of that work. I appreciate the opportunity to put into practice the principles I teach, and to make a real difference, sometimes."

Don shook his head. "God, no, Charlie, don't thank me. I should thank you. And apologize…if…for the times I haven't been attentive enough. Your work is important, too. Impressive. Gargantuan, even."

Now they were both embarrassed, and Don was growing frustrated. This wasn't what he had been hoping for, exactly, not another discussion about work, and whose meant more. His eyes wandered the room and he focused on a photo on the desk. Charlie, Larry, Amita,. There was a waterfall in the background. "Where was that picture taken?"

Charlie followed his gaze. "That? It's a couple of years old…it's the year Amita finished her doctorate in Applied Mathematics and decided to go for another in Astrophysics. We took a day trip to hike and picnic at Big Santa Anita Canyon. It was the symbolic handing over of a student, sort-of. Although Larry's not really Astrophysics, despite his great interest…" Charlie trailed off and looked back at Don. "Why?"

Don wasn't sure he could follow through on his resolve. This was not his comfort zone. "Uh…you must be pleased that she didn't accept the Harvard offer."

"What are you doing, Don?"

Don swallowed. "Establishing a pattern."

Charlie stood and moved to his original chair, placing the desk between them — a gesture that wasn't lost on Don. He plucked the pen from behind his ear and added it to the pile on the test papers, then looked at Don again. "She didn't choose between me and Harvard, Don. She chose between Cal Sci and Harvard. Cal Sci agreed to allow her time to continue her work on the Astrophysics doctorate. Between that and her new responsibilities…" He reddened a little. "She's not in a place to pursue romantic entanglements. Nothing's going to happen, there."

Don nodded. "Kim and I. We were living together, even engaged…but even now, I'm not sure how that happened. We were both Agents, and the job took precedence over everything. I hate to admit it, but it's one reason I came back. Not just for Mom — I'm not that selfless. I wish I was. Truth is, I wanted out. I know the job was a big part of that relationship not working. That's why I was so careful about Terry."

Charlie picked up a pen and started tapping the desk again. "Holy shit," he finally said. "You just don't do things halfway, do you?"

Don leaned forward on the couch, arms on his knees, and looked intently at his brother. "Charlie, I haven't been who I want to be. As a brother. As a man. Separate from my job." He sat back again and sighed in frustration. "Or…at least I need to learn to integrate my job a little into an actual life. I would like to do that." He seemed to find new resolve even as he was speaking. "I intend to change things …. Is this … do you like things the way they are, between us?"

Charlie looked at Don for a while and then swiveled his chair a little so that he could look out the window. "All I was going to do this afternoon was grade papers. That's all. But no, I have to leave the door open, and my life becomes a remake of 'Invasion of the Body Snatchers'." He stood and walked as far away from the couch as he could, looked at some books on the shelf. He put his hands in the pockets of his jeans and turned to face Don. "I…it…I would like for things to be different."

Don looked at him. "You're scared," he said wonderingly.

"Shit, yes, I'm scared."

"Of what? Do you think I'm too old to do it or something? I can't make changes?"

"No. I have always believed that you can do anything you want to, Don."

Don could admit that had always seemed true enough. Charlie had always championed him. "Then what?"

"I'm…I'm afraid that you'll stop wanting it. Or that I won't hold up my end."

Don used the time it took to stand himself to look down at his feet and compose his face. He had never been careful enough, with this gift. His brother. He could see that now. He started walking and stopped a few feet in front of Charlie, allowing him space. He spoke softly. "I don't believe either one of those things is going to happen."

Charlie took his hands out of his pockets and crossed his arms nervously. "So, what do we do now?"

Don smiled. "Try a little harder — to hear each other. To make ourselves heard. Openness. Honesty. All those five-dollar therapy words."

Charlie finally smiled again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 • _EPILOGUE_**

Alan stood in the back yard, hands on hips, and stared with confusion at his sons.

"I don't understand," he said. "I didn't think either one of you was particularly fond of this sort of thing."

Don looked up from his position on the ground, where he was poring over a set of instructions. Charlie was kneeling next to him, doing the same thing. "You're not complaining, are you, Dad? This is your birthday present. When this is over you'll have a nice enclosed spa to relax in. All I have to do is keep him from translating everything into an equation. Who uses a calculator to install a hot tub?"

Charlie looked up from the plans to his brother. "None of this makes sense, otherwise. It's supposed to be a simple procedure, but whatever language these plans are written in is not my native tongue."

Don sat back on his heels. "Charlie, we need to take this one step at a time. You're concerned about the gazebo, and that's the last step. We've got a yard full of dirt and lumber and rented equipment, here. Rented by the hour. On my credit card. Let's just pick a location and start preparing the ground."

Charlie searched frantically around him for another set of instructions, finally finding them under the first set. He pulled them out to the top. "But these are no better," he protested. "There are too many options. Or maybe we have to do it all. I think that part is in French. These plans are supposed to be easy. The ground is leveled, a concrete slab is poured, the bottom of the wood deck is installed and then we need 2 x 4s? I thought the deck was 2 x 4s?" He shoved the instructions toward Don.

"I got the 2 x 4s so I would have something to hit you over the head with," Don grumbled.

Alan smiled. "When is this hot tub you picked out being delivered?"

"Tomorrow," said Don, on top of Charlie's "this afternoon". The two looked at each other.

"You said you would call and reschedule," started Don.

"I thought you would be here earlier this morning," countered Charlie.

Alan cleared his throat and both of his sons looked up at him.

"You know I am an architect," he began. "I have a passing familiarity with plans. Perhaps I could help…"

"No!" They both spoke at the same time again, looked at each other and then back at him guiltily.

"Sorry, Dad," Don apologized. "It's not that we don't think you can help. It's just that we kind-of wanted to do it together."

Charlie nodded. "Yeah. What he said."

Alan looked at his boys and decided not to tell them that the sight of them together, voluntarily and happily, was all the birthday present he ever needed. "Well, then. You have quite a day ahead of you. Could I interest you in some iced tea?"

"Sounds great, Da…". Don's voice cut off in a grunt as Charlie suddenly lunged over him for the calculator. He punched in a few numbers and waved it excitedly in Don's face.

"I'm telling you, Don, if we filter everything through Pi…"

Alan turned and went toward the house for the tea, smiling.

He was having a great birthday.

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FINIS

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**A/N: Okay. This time I mean it. I explored the angst a little more for you and yet refrained from hurting anybody physically. (Unless you count the 2 x 4 over the head.) I do what I can.**


End file.
